


Home (for the Holidays)

by MooseFeels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Christmas, Mating Cycles/In Heat, midnight mass, omega cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 21:36:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1098857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's in heat and goes to midnight mass anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cas knows his heat is coming because he watches a commercial and then cries for the next twenty minutes.

He’s picked up on these kind of things- he tends to be a little more...delicate when his heat is nearby. A little more protective, a little more emotional. A little quicker to anger or to upset than usual. He makes a point of not watching as much television and spending less time online when he’s in heat. The time of year doesn’t help, either. Every ad-exec is out to make him feel every single feeling he has about Christmas and the holidays and fuck, okay? Castiel has a lot of feelings about Christmas.

His parents, and when he was older his brothers and sister too, all worked through the holidays when he was a kid. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve. Not Christmas, though. No, Christmas was a day they all had off, a day they all had together. They all got off shift or woke up for midnight mass, had Christmas morning, slept through the afternoon, and then ate whatever terrible meal his mother had cooked up.

Now, though, Castiel lives far from home. He works too hard to fly back. He can never make it back. Not really.

It’s not that they’re disappointed in him, it’s that...it’s that he was supposed to be someone else. And he’s not.

Castiel sighs deeply and climbs off of his bed. Runs his hands through his sweaty mess of hair and throws on his coat.

The air is very, very cold all about him. Freezing and whipping around him. Fierce and hard. He pulls his scarf a little closer around himself, squints through the snow. He doesn’t really feel the cold; instead he feels the places where his body goes numb with it. The heat, it brings the blood to the surface of himself but nothing cools.

He can’t miss the service. He’s never missed a service. He’ll sit in the back and hope that the full brunt of it doesn’t hit him until it’s over, and then he can spend the holiday crying and jerking off with his finger up his ass, pressing on his prostate and begging for a knot.

The church is old and freezing. He crosses himself as he enters, holy water frigid on his fingertips, icy on his fevered forehead.

He sits in the very back pew and looks around.

Every sconce in the wall is filled with a tall, thin candle. Every candle gives off that pure, golden light. Caught and reflected in the heavy green boughs of holly and pine that line the aisles, and the light dances in the space. It is not filled, it is glowed and brightened. It glistens, it shimmers, it hopes.

Castiel listens to the choirs, their voices raised ecstatic in pure song, bringing a kind of unimaginable light to the comfortable shadows that surround him. A warmth that is inside of an auditory sensation, a fullness that grows out of his bones. A wholeness inside of him, a unity.

He closes his eyes and listens and thinks.

Impoverished, teenage mother. Having her first child in a barn. Young and terrified, her husband a stranger. That warm life, close and new against her breast. Dear.

Entering into a life of terror and wonder.

To be not afraid.

Castiel sits in the back for a lot reasons.

Crying becomes some kind of feedback loop and feeds the thing inside of him that makes him want more than sex- the thing inside of him that wants someone in the morning who will stay, will move in with him, will hold him through the night.

He can’t have that, though. He knows. He’s learned.

He walks back from the service, or he tries to. He steps out of the church onto a bad patch of ice and slips, twisting his ankle and falling hard on the palms of his hands. He shouts aloud at the feeling, bright and hard.

“Shit!” he hisses as he tries to get up. His ankle falters underneath his body and he’s about to fall again when someone catches him, supporting his weight. Holding him back up.

He looks up, and it’s a stranger, a stranger who sat in the pew near him. Someone with brown-blonde hair and bright green eyes. A great spray of freckles over his face and warm smile. Warm, like a sun.

“Hey,” he says, “Jeez, are you okay? Come on, let me help you out.”

The weight eases off of his ankle and Castiel says, “Thank you. Sorry, I- can you help me hail a cab?”

The guy frowns and shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Sorry, you’re...this looks really ugly. My brother and I came to the service with my mom. Let me drop you off at your house.”

Castiel looks at him, a little nervous.

“We can wait here until they show up, if you’d like. Or, hell, my mom can drive you home and swing back through and get Sam and I. I mean...I don’t want you to not feel safe but...honestly, let me just make sure you get home safe. No- no other motivations, okay?”

Castiel looks at him, looks at the way his skin flushes just slightly. The actual concern in his eyes and voice. The language and gesture of his posture.

“Dean!” Someone shouts behind him. “Get your ass in gear, I’m tired as hell!”

He turns bright red and turns around. Says, “Don’t swear in church, mom will kill you.”

A huge guy bounds out of the doorway. All dark brown hair and wide, bright smile. He looks at Castiel and says, “Oh, jeez, he didn’t knock you down, did he-” He stops mid-sentence and his eyes grow wide. “Oh, fuck,” he murmurs.

There’s a thump behind him and a woman pushes him out of the way. “Don’t swear in church,” she commands, laughing. “Dean didn’t knock you over, did he? I swear, he’ll learn one day that this isn’t a football field but until then these things just keep happen- oh honey, are you in heat?”  
Castiel freezes, terrified suddenly. He smiles, a little pained. “No, no,” he murmurs. “I mean- no, but- I fell on the ice and I need to go to...I need to go home, actually, if you would just let me get to a cab.”

The woman shakes her head. “No, please,” she says. “My son has a car and he can drive you home, I’ll be there. Don’t worry, honestly. We’re not a threat to you, I promise.”

The guy, the guy holding him up looks away from him, blushing further still. “If you’re not comfortable letting us drive you, I can help you pay for the cab. I know a service that’s good for omegas.”

Castiel looks at him for a long, long time, and something clicks into place. Castiel can’t smell him. He can smell the tall man, he can smell their mother. He can’t smell the man holding his arm. Not at all. Can’t even smell anything like omega slick, either. There’s something else at work here, something different. And he’s not afraid of him. Not at all.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m sorry. Hello, I’m Castiel and I really- I really need to be home.”

“I’m Dean,” he answers. “This is my brother Sam and this is my mom, Mary. Let me help you to the car.”  
It’s painful, limping into the long black car. He sits in the back with the mother, Mary. She has kind eyes and long, blonde hair that curls around her face. She’s beautiful and strongly resembles Dean.

She looks at his hands, bloodied palms and says, “You might want to have someone look at these. Do you think maybe you can hold everything together so Dean can check you out? He’s a nurse now, it might help.”

Castiel looks up, into the rear view mirror. Sees Dean’s eyes staring out into the windshield. Nods. “Please,” he answers. “That would be lovely.”

He’s feeling worse and worse, warmer and warmer and warmer. HIs skin flushing, the uncomfortable emptiness and wetness inside of him. Desperate and fluttery and clingy. He hates this.

They pull out in front of the building and Dean walks from the driver’s side to the back. The light is golden. The air is cold.

He holds Castiel’s hands and frowns. “This is nasty,” he mutters. “Do you have disinfectant? Do you know how to-” He looks up at Castiel. Raises his two fingers. “Scouts honor,” he says. “I will not hurt you. Can I please come up and get you cleaned up?”

Castiel looks at Dean. Looks at his brother, visibly uncomfortable in the front seat. Looks at Mary, kind trusting eyes.”  
“Okay,” he says. “Fine.”

“I’ve got my phone,” he says to his mother and brother. “This shouldn’t take long.”

He helps Castiel out of the car and they lumber into the building. Ride the elevator uncomfortable and quiet.

“A nurse?” He asks.

Dean nods.

“A football player?”  
Dean shrugs. “Had to pay for my degree somehow,” he answers. He smiles, but he looks a little sad. “It was kind of a...fucked up situation. What do you do?”

“Accountancy for a charity,” he answers. “This is kind of our busy season. I’ve got tomorrow and the day after off.”

Dean smiles. “Any plans for the holiday?”  
He shakes his head. “I couldn’t get out of town to see my parents, couldn’t get the time off.” He sighs heavily. “Probably going to spend most of it horny and sleeping, to be honest. My uh...my heat really swept me up today.”  
Dean coughs slightly. They get out of the elevator and Dean helps him get to the apartment. He unlocks the door and Dean helps to put him on the couch. Castiel hides a huge dildo under a throw pillow and flexes his hands a few times. Hisses.

“I should have some ace bandages and disinfectant in the cabinet in the bathroom,” he calls to Dean, in the back of the apartment. He leans over to tug at his shoelaces and eases them off of his feet.

Dean comes back into the room and says, “This is going to sting a little, but it’ll mean nothing gets infected. I also found some gauze and tape in there to cover it. You should check them in the morning.” He sits down on the coffee table in front of Castiel and holds his hand gently, pulling the fingers back, open.

“Why can’t I smell you?” Castiel asks, and Dean pauses.

He wipes his hair away from his face. Grabs the disinfectant and pour some onto a cotton ball. Begins to dab at his palms. “In college,” he begins. “Football team, they uh...the games...it was a really heady environment. Thick. It was kind of like being in rut 24/7 for three and a half years. March of my senior year, though, I got sick and it stopped. Nothing. No ruts, no scent, no scenting. It...uh, broke everything. Turns out a combination of hormonal overdrive and then deep physical distress from double pneumonia can leave the system kind of...fucked. Finished nursing school, got a job. It’s been about six years and I haven’t had anything.” He works carefully. Intently. Wraps his hands and adds, without looking up, “Let me look at your ankle, okay?”

Castiel leans back a little, further into the couch and props his leg onto Dean’s knee. Dean peels off his sock and rotates his foot slowly, gently, until Castiel hisses aloud.

“I didn’t know,” he continues, “that you were in heat. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

He wraps his foot gently, gingerly. The bandage holds it stiffly and it stops aching so badly.

Tender. Golden. Soft. Kind.

“Would you like a drink?” Castiel asks.

Dean smiles. “That’d be great, but you shouldn’t be putting weight on this and I don’t just want to dig through your apartment or anything. And I can’t...I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I’m sorry.”

“Please,” Castiel says. “Take off your coat. Stay awhile. It won’t be...insatiable for a little while. I don’t- if I wanted a fuck, I’d use my fakes. I don’t...want to be alone. Please. I just want to be with someone. I want to know you.”

Dean looks at him. All broad hands and strong shoulders. He bites his lip. “Are you sure?” He asks softly. “I can’t disappoint another person.”

Castiel nods, his heart breaking ever so slightly.

Dean stands and picks Castiel up into something like a bridal carry. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asks. “I’ve been awake since four AM yesterday and I’m about to pass out.”

“Down the hall,” he murmurs. “Please don’t go. Please.”

Dean lays him gently down on the bed. Sits down at the edge next to him.

“What is this?” he asks. “I don’t know you. Not at all. Even remotely.”  
Castiel looks at him. Warm, low light. Reaches forward and takes his hand. Whispers, “Be not afraid.”  
Dean smiles at him. Lays down in the bed next to him.

Holds all through the night and is there Christmas morning. Ignores the low dampness of Castiel’s slick and holds him tightly.

He’s even there when Castiel comes back from jacking off in the bathroom.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The heat passes and Castiel never thinks he’ll see Dean again.

He left, in the morning, when Castiel was in the shower. Left behind a warm bed and mussed sheets. A smell of sweat and a smell of a body, but nothing more complex. Nothing more complicated. Clean and simple.

Castiel goes back to work on the twenty-sixth, and he never expects to see Dean again. He doesn’t really expect to see Dean or his huge brother or his mom ever again. They become filed away in his memory as some strange thing that happened to him one Christmas.

He’s at the office New Year’s party. It’s in some hotel downtown. He’s in the back, drinking flute after flute of cheap champagne. He doesn’t much care for this kind of thing. He has a few friends but not many, and he doesn’t find these events cathartic. They’re stressful. He’s got to be here for a little while, longer though. Smile falsely at a few more co-workers and then he’ll catch a cab home.

When Charlie (red haired, cheerful, brilliant Charlie) comes bounding out of one corner of the room and says with a wide smile, “Cas! Meet my friend Dean! We were in the same year at state!” Castiel freezes.

And just like that, he’s there again.

They both freeze in place, terrified. Dean opens his mouth and inhales, nervous, and Castiel plunges on.

“Hello, Dean,” he greets. They shake hands and Dean blushes slightly..

Charlie makes this face, this incredible and terrible. She takes a drink and turns around, leaves them there.

There’s a crackling quality to Dean. He’s like lightning, bottled up and suspended into a thin shell. He bristles in front of Castiel, he sparks and shimmers.

“I didn’t think-” he began. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I’m...I’m sorry.”

Castiel frowns. “Why?” He asks. “I didn’t want to be alone and it was good...it was kind of you to stay. I hope it didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

Dean blushes a little and drinks some more. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer. I was beginning to want...to want. And I couldn’t give you what you...needed. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s eyes are green and they lock intently with Castiel’s. They are filled with a terrible and bright kindness. A sadness there, too. A desire.

“How do you know what I need?” Castiel asks, his voice low.

Dean’s knuckles turn white where they grip his glass of beer.

He looks away, suddenly, and drinks the beer down.

“Everyone does this,” he says. “I mean- I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve...tried. A couple of different times and it never works out. They...you don’t want me, okay? Cute betas want me. Damaged alphas want me. Omegas? Omegas don’t want me.”

Castiel tugs at his tie, loosening it fiercely. He’s had a few. What the hell.

He leans forward and grasps Dean’s lapels. Looks into his eyes, just an inch or so upward.

“Don’t presume to know what I want.”

Dean’s mouth is warm and soft. Giving. Gentle. He moans into it softly, unsure for a moment, and then his hands move through space and curve Castiel’s body into his. They tug on his hair. The gently scratch at his neck.

His sharp teeth (his alpha teeth, for tearing, for hunting, for puncturing), his sharp alpha teeth tug at Castiel’s bottom lip, tearing. Scratching. Just barely breaking the skin.

Dean inhales suddenly, sharply. Painfully. His mouth, when he pulls away, it red with blood. Eyes blown wide.

“Can I...Please,” he whimpers. “Please.”

Castiel is suddenly very glad that the office New Year’s party is in a hotel.

 


	3. Chapter 3

They practically fight their way up the stairs, down the hall, and to the bedroom. Dean, fighting for control, teeth and nails and hands that tear and scratch and bite. Castiel twisting and bucking underneath him like a wild animal.

That’s it, he realizes. Dean makes him feel like a wild animal. A ruined creature. Untamed and feral and possessive and fucking horny but also...nesty. Protective.

It’s the weirdest thing he’s ever felt, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to stop.

The door opens and they tear away their clothes, leave them draped over the floor. Castiel fists his hand through Dean’s hair.

Fireworks pop outside and Dean gasps into a kiss. His breath is hot. His eyes are closed.His hands are calloused where they slide over his waist and grasp his hips. Heavy where they rest over his hip bones. His head crooks down slightly, barely taller than Castiel is.

He pulls away for a moment and says, “I’m just...just an animal looking for a home, share the same space for a minute or two.”

Castiel huffs a small laugh. Tiny. “Don’t you quote David Byrne at me,” he answers.

Dean surges forward and kisses him again, and then pushes him onto the bed. He sits down next to him and runs his hands through his hair. He leans in and nuzzles against his pulse point and bites and worries and sucks at the skin. Castiel bucks his hips and cries out into the air.

More fireworks outside.

He feels his body enter that strange bound up and over-tight place of being turned on. The slick looseness of his hole. The bound and corded physical feeling of want. Unbearable desire.

Castiel’s hand wanders over Dean’s body, lower and lower to his boxers. To his dick.

His boxers are tented; hard in his shorts. Castiel lets his hand drift over and into his shorts. He feels it, he feels Dean and Dean pulls away.

“I’m not- I wasn’t lying. Really. I can’t...I don’t...I can’t knot. If you want that, I can’t give it to you.”

“I know,” Castiel answers. “I believe you. It’s okay. I know.”

Dean’s hands dive under his shorts and pull his underwear down. They are cool over his ass and they find his slick easily. Dean moans slightly, and Castiel smiles into Dean’s neck as he jacks at his dick.

He cries incoherently into the air, gasping. It is a shattered noise. A broken apart noise. “No one’s...it’s been so long,” he gasps.

“Stop talking,” Castiel whispers. “Please, just feel this with me. Just feel this.”

Dean grips at his shoulders suddenly and flips them through space, so that Castiel is spread underneath him and Castiel moans into the air. Untied and loose.

Dean grabs his hands and holds them above his head. Spread out. Completely at his mercy.

The scent of his sweat fills up the room. It is not alpha smell. It is all salt and bitterness and work. It is not the richness and complexity of alpha smell. It’s a different thing.

Dean holds both of Castiel’s wrists in one of his hands and leans down over him. He bends and leans and pushes and presses, just low enough that he can suck and bite at Castiel’s ribs and pecs.

He looks up and murmurs, “Don’t move your hands. Don’t.”  
Castiel nods.

He moves downward and finds his hipbones. Kisses those, too.

Dean’s mouth finds Castiel’s cock and Castiel, he moans. It’s been so long since he found anyone who paid attention to his dick, not just to his hole. Dean’s barely touched him there.

Castiel realizes, suddenly, that this isn’t about his hole. This isn’t about Dean’s knot. This is about touching him, about making him feel. About bringing him to some electric sensation. Some brightness of feeling.

This is about making him happy.

It hits Castiel as he comes, suddenly, down Dean’s throat.

This is more than a one night stand.

 The first of January blossoms around their hotel room, but inside they are caught in suspension. They are stretched outside of time. They are tangled inside of increasingly intricate nets.

The first of January spreads like slow honey, and realization chases it.

Is it possible to love a stranger?


End file.
